Star Wars: Corruption From Within
by Blue Leader
Summary: As the Clone Wars rage on one Jedi must face his fears and his previous sins to save his friends and help restore peace to the galaxy. But when unfortunate truths begin to arise and his dark past begins to be revealed, will Dakar Ramsus be able to retain the trust of the Jedi Council and purge the evil that he himself set upon the galaxy or will he let the darkness consume him?
1. Introduction

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away…

**STAR WARS**  
><strong>CORRUPTION FROM WITHIN<strong>

It is a period of great turmoil with the galaxy locked in a brutal war between the Galactic Republic and the greedy Confederacy of Independent Systems. But this is not the only conflict engulfing the star systems… The Jedi, guardians of peace and justice in the galaxy, are struggling against the might of the recently re-emerged Sith and their mysterious leader.

Even with the war growing more heated by the day a single Jedi is having a conflict of his own. DAKAR RAMSUS, a Jedi Master that calls the Jedi Temple of Coruscant home, struggles with the darkness lurking within his own mind and heart. Fearing for the safety of his friends and newly-appointed Padawan learner, ZEAMI, he knows not what the future holds for him.

But things will soon become clear to him as yet another threat from the evil Sith arises, and Dakar will have to face the demons of his past and of his own mind if he wants to save those closest to him…


	2. Chapter 1: Waking

**Chapter 1: Waking **

It was cold. So very cold. Surprisingly cold, in fact, despite how hot and humid it was outside. Korriban was usually such a humid planet, its single sun burning the sands of its vast deserts almost as hotly as the twin suns of the planet Tatooine. But inside this place, this dark, rank place it was cold, too cold, unnaturally cold…

It was, in fact, the tomb of Naga Sadow, an ancient Sith Lord who had died so very many thousands of years prior, and yet his evil could still be felt here and now and was no doubt the source of the frigid air. Here in this decaying tomb where his body resided, a place where even light seemed to be too afraid to enter, that reeked of death and decay, and with a pungent dusty odor that was difficult to describe but smelled of ancient rotting flesh, disintegrating sandstone, sulfur and old musty air that had been kept inside for thousands of years. It was a place that no one should have been crazy enough to enter—even the booby traps were not as dangerous as the signs of time crumbling the interior—and yet there was a small child lurking deep within, crawling his way through on hands and knees—hands and knees that were blistered and were scraped and bleeding from the rough, hard stone floor that had not seen living feet trudging over them in only the stars knew how long. He crawled because he could not see, feared that if he stood and walked he may only trip and fall over something in his way. He had had a light to help guide him, a small glowing neon tube-lamp, but it had broken not long after he entered the tomb, an unfortunate and costly mistake he had made himself. Now he had no light at all and was nearly completely blind, he could barely even make out his own features, not even his hands in front of him.

Thanks primarily to his connection to the Force, even if it was only a rudimentary understanding of its full power and affects, he had been able to make it through the once-perilous traps with only a few cuts and bruises (what traps were still in working order, that is), but he knew that his trial was far from over. He still had a ways to go into the expansive tomb, and blindly, hopelessly at that. The boy shivered and hunched a little lower to the floor as if the cold would then just pass over him and leave him be. It did not work.

He felt stupid for being in the place, and more than a little terrified, but his Sith master, an older Givin named Gal'ragd'al, had convinced him that he needed to come here to increase his power and understanding of the dark side of the Force, of the power of the Sith. Gal'ragd'al had been good to the boy and had taken care of him when no one else would, and what was more, the aging Givin had grown ill (though he had tried his best to keep this fact hidden from the boy), and the youngster did not want to upset his dear master.

Deeper he crawled into the tomb, deeper and deeper, until he felt the floor change from stone to tile… This was a clue that he was reaching the coffin of the ancient Sith Lord, a place that would be much more lavishly-decorated than the rest of the crypt. He used his hands to feel around for a wall, and when he found one, inched his way up it until he was standing on his feet. His fingers then touched a wooden protrusion with an end covered in oily cloth, a torch no doubt. Relieved, the boy reached to his waist where his lightsaber rested and with an echoing _snap-hiss_ the lightsaber ignited into its white-red burning glory, humming loudly and proudly. The blade sputtered once or twice, flickering and threatening to go out completely, but the boy hoped that the broken energy core would give him enough power for just a little bit more… He grabbed the wooden torch and passed the oil-soaked cloth end near the lightsaber blade, close enough that its hot energy would catch the cloth, but not close enough for the blade it cut the torch outright. Much to his relief, and just as he had hoped, the lightsaber was enough to ignite the torch and set the cloth aflame; the lightsaber then sputtered again and died, the energy blade retreating back into its metal sheath with a reverse _hiss-snap _and a brief shower of sparks.

The burning wooden torch illuminated the area in a warm golden-red glow and warmed his dull purple skin. The warmth felt good on his face even though it caused his blistered lips to ache even more. The boy hooked the saber back onto his belt and with his torch to light the way he headed back down the tomb once again, though only_ slightly_ more confident now.

And then he finally reached a room with tall stone walls lined with stone shelves, and as he got a closer look at them, he noticed that the shelves were lined with oddly-shaped rocks, most of them of similar shape, but some were larger while some where a little smaller. He took a step closer… No, they weren't rocks… What where they? He reached out and gingerly touched the top edge of one and felt the rough, coarse surface against his fingertips, a texture not unlike rock, but not quite the same, either. The "rock" crumbled under his touch and he realized that the "rock" was hollow inside. It was then that he realized that these were not rocks, no, they were skulls. Most of the skulls looked human, or possibly near-human—a Rodian or two, a Twi'lek, a cycloptic skull of an Abyssin, these he spotted immediately—and he wasn't about to check if they were any other species he could recognize. He let out a yelp, stumbled backward, tripped and fell back onto his rear end. Luckily he did not lose his grip on the torch, however.

The skulls were old and crusted, their color having changed from their original ivory to a yellow-brown showing that they had been there for hundreds of years, much older than the skeletons he had seen near the entrance of the tomb, the skeletons of would-be grave robbers that tripped a trap and met an untimely end. But one of these skulls, as strange as it was, piqued the boy's interest. It looked as old as most of the others, perhaps even older, but it was smaller and was shaped slightly different than the other skulls that were most clearly male. Though most definitely human, this one had a definite feminine appearance, and its smaller size showed that whoever it had belonged to had died younger than the others. But what was most curious about the skull was the fact that it was not pure bone, some of it was clad in metal, and the left eye socket was plugged with what looked like a metal eye patch with a small red dot that looked like it had once glowed with electric power. A cyborg, the boy thought to himself.

He climbed back up onto his feet and eased over toward the skull. Something about it seemed different than the others, its aura was different, its presence almost alluring, calling, beckoning. He felt the urge to touch it as if something, or someone, was telling him to, as if he _had _to do it… And so he did. The young boy reached out a six-fingered hand and lightly touched the skull, and was relieved that it did not shatter like the one prior. His fingertips then touched the eye piece and he felt a jolt of electricity run through his body—no, not electricity, something more powerful, something darker… He let out a silent scream as he felt as though his body had been struck by lightning, his eyesight went black and his mind went numb as if something evil and deadly had washed over him. It was a pain unlike any he had felt before. He felt something jabbing at his own skull, poking at his brain, and he shook his head like he was trying to shake something out of it, but it was no use. And then… and then it was gone. Gone as quickly as it had started, leaving the ghostly words "you are not the one" ringing hauntingly through the room, or possibly through his mind, he did not bother to think which. Terrified, the boy ran from the room, dropping the torch along the way, and dashed back through the winding stone corridors. Running at full tilt and using only his vague understanding of the Force to guide him, he darted back the way he had come (or he hoped it was the way he had come) through the maze of collapsing corridors. After some time he finally, somehow, made it to the entrance and he burst through the still open stone doorway and back into the blistering heat and scorching sands of the ancient Valley of the Dark Lords. Gal'ragd'al was nearby waiting for him and when he heard the boy's huffing and puffing he turned to him. The boy ran to his master and, without even asking for permission, wrapped his arms around the man. Gal'ragd'al seemed somewhat taken aback, but in turn brought his arms around his young apprentice.

_…I'm sorry, master Gal'ragd'al…_ the boy signed with his double-thumbed hands, tears streaming down his light purple cheeks.

The boy could see concern in his master's deep-set pitch black eyes that were darker than even the interior of the tomb. His master's solid, bony brow of his skull-like face rose once, then fell again, and though Gal'ragd'al did not understand he did not ask.

"It's alright," he said in a voice too gentle for a Sith, his rough bony hands sifting through the boy's jet black hair. Why his master was so kind—kind compared to a Sith, that is—the boy did not know, but he did know that the man was just as much of an outcast as he was, just like him his master did not seem to fit in anywhere. "Don't worry, it is okay. Let's go home." And without another word the skeletal Givin turned and headed back towards the city of Dreshdae where they would find passage back to home at the local starport…

* * *

><p><em>Beep! Beep! Beep!<em>

The man's brow flinched at the annoying sound of the beeping off to his right, breaking his meditative concentration. Well, it wasn't like his meditation had gone all that well, he supposed; his mind had been far too clouded with memories of the past to be truly tranquil enough for real meditation. He never did like thinking about the past. And despite how long ago that was, back in his childhood in fact, he could still feel that darkness creeping over his mind, as if an evil demon had resided in that skull, waiting for its moment to strike, and had transferred itself from the skull into his mind when he touched the bone cranium. Even now he could feel its dark embrace, its sharp fingers grasping at his mind, scratching at his brain, threatening to take his mind and shatter it into pieces. It had been a hard thing for him to deal with as a child, and the older he got the harder it was. Now the only thing that seemed to keep the darkness at bay were the nerve stims and mind sedatives that he had become far too dependent on. The Jedi Council frowned upon his use of them but even they knew that without them his mind would most likely be destroyed by the darkness creeping through it, something planted that and out of his own control.

_ Beep! Beep! Beep!_

His eyes slowly opened, revealing his pure-white eyes with no visible pupil and no visible iris. But he was not blind. No, the solid white eyes were one of the traits of those of his species, those who were Anomid. He gazed briefly around the room—his room, a personal quarters bedroom, one of many located inside the Jedi Temple on the ecumenopolis of Coruscant, a planet covered in one continuous, gigantic and seemingly ever-expanding city. Over five thousands levels of buildings slapped on top of each other that reached dizzying, indescribable heights. It made him nervous to think about it.

_Alright, alright, hold on…_ he thought to himself as he stood up, straightened his obi, and brushed a strand of his jet black hair away from his eyes. Standing at his full height he walked toward the holo-communication center located just a few feet away, and grabbed his vocalization mask that was sitting on his bed along the way. He fastened the mask over his mouth, a mouth which looked rather human in appearance but was just a little bit smaller, and hid teeth that looked relatively human save for a set of two short fangs on the bottom jaw that most definitely _weren't_ human, and then he placed the metal round pads connected by wire to the mask onto either side of his throat. These pads would pick up the vibrations of this throat and translate these vibrations into audible speech—this was another trait of Anomids: they had no vocal chords, and while they used a unique form of sign language to communicate amongst themselves, with other species who could not understand the complicated double-thumbed sign language, they used a vocalization mask to translate throat vibrations into speech. Albeit mechanical speech. The masks were of styles that were unique and customized to each individual, and often showed their status, financial situation or political standing. The mask even covered the short but well-kept black goatee on his chin.

He reached a pale purple hand out to the control panel of console and pressed a red blinking button with the upper of his two thumbs (again, an Anomid trait, having two thumbs on each hand, along with the four standard fingers, all of which had slightly clawed or pointed black nails), and watched as a hologram of a golden-colored 3PO-series protocol droid appeared floating above the surface of the console.

"Ah, Master Dakar Ramsus?" said the droid in its usual prissy and proper tone and masculine programming and etiquette.

"Yes?" the Anomid replied, adjusting the metal pads on this throat for a better fit.

"I apologize for bothering you, but Master Yoda wishes to speak with you immediately," the droid said.

"But doesn't Master Yoda have a class with the younglings right now?" the Anomid Jedi Master questioned, raising a black eyebrow curiously. At this time of day the little green creature that was Master Yoda would be busy with his class of younglings, of Jedi learners, who weren't even old enough to truly be called Padawans.

"He is… but he says that this matter is most urgent," the droid informed him, his voice not showing any sign of urgency but rather that of annoyance that he was being questioned. "Should I tell him that you are on your way?"

If Yoda was interrupting his teaching with the younglings, thought Dakar, than this was definitely something important. Yoda considered teaching the next generation one of the most important and honorable things a Jedi could do, and he seemed to enjoy his time with the young children quite a bit. Dakar himself was fairly popular with the children of the Jedi Temple as well, but not like Yoda…

"Y-yeah… I'll be there in a few minutes, I just need to get dressed," Dakar replied—or more specifically, the vocalization mask replied for him. Perhaps Dakar did not speak as most Jedi did without the use of strict and proper dialect but when it came right down to it Dakar was far from "most Jedi".

"Very well; good day," the droid said, signing off, and the hologram disappeared. Under the mask Dakar's lips curled into a bit of a smirk. Despite the expressionless face, that droid, See-Threepio, always seemed so nervous when conversing with Jedi that weren't Anakin Skywalker or Obi-Wan Kenobi. Could droids even get nervous?

Shrugging off the question easily, the Anomid turned back toward his bed and grabbed the tunic draped over it, and slid it over his previously bare chest, then wrapped the tabards over his shoulders and tucked the center of them under his obi, and after fastening his red-brown dewback leather belt and ceremoniously hooking his lightsaber into the black duraplast clip he was ready to head out…

The hallways of the temple were tall and wide, seemingly of much unneeded proportions. He never could figure out why the hallways needed to be so huge—what could possibly have needed to maneuver down them? There were a few Jedi and Padawans meandering about the hallways and more than a few droids of numerous shapes, sizes and models. He threw a casual two-fingered wave to a fellow Jedi by the name of Quinlan Vos as he passed by who only nodded in response. Quinlan wasn't the most respectable or sociable of the Jedi, in fact he seemed to be just as much of an oddity as Dakar himself was. Maybe that was why he seemed to be able to get along better with Quinlan than others did. Or maybe he was just crazy.

The walk to the youngling classrooms was lengthy but brisk and Dakar made the journey in remarkable time. He could hear voices coming from a nearby classroom and the faint sounds of low-power training lightsaber blades whizzing haphazardly through the air, and as Dakar approached he peered through the slightly textured glass to see the students behind it being mentored by none other than the little green frog of a man simply called Yoda, one of the wisest and probably oldest (though Dakar would never tell him the latter) members of the Jedi Council. The creature's back was turned to him and Dakar could only see the back of the master's wrinkled green head and his mess of white, frizzy hair. At only around three feet tall he was scarcely taller than the younglings he was teaching, and some of them were indeed taller than him, despite him being hundreds of years older than any of them. Yoda was dressed in his usual brown tunic and pants with a cream-colored cloak, his three-fingered hands and four-toed feet bare.

Yoda's long left ear twitched once and Dakar knew that the little man had clearly sensed his arrival but Yoda made no other action to confirm this. Instead he kept speaking to the young children of numerous species from all across the galaxy for a few minutes more before he finally waved a hand to signal them to deactivate their training lightsabers. Their instructions would be done for now.

Yoda turned to the door then and it slid open with a hiss of pressurized air as he approached it. The little frog of a man stepped out, glancing only once up at the pale purple Anomid, and then nodding his head.

"Troubling news, I have," said Yoda, his voice dull and raspy, lacking any hint of his usual cheerful tone that he gained from his tutoring of children. "Come with me, talk we should."

Yoda stepped away, leaving the children in the training room to gather their belongings, and Dakar followed after him. "Master Yoda, if this is about the hydrospanner incident, I can explain—" Dakar began but the elder master cut him off.

"Not about that, this is…" Yoda replied. Then Dakar could almost sense a faint smirk coming to the master's lips, easing his dark mood just a little. "But curious about the cause of that accident, I was." Dakar regretted brining up the subject.

_ Step, tap, step, tap,_ the sound of Yoda's footsteps and cane tapping the tile floors echoed down the hallway. It was a sound any Jedi had become familiar with, a sound iconic to Yoda and Yoda alone. Where Yoda was taking him he was not quite sure but even he could sense something was on the green-skinned being's mind.

"Gal'ragd'al… Have meaning to you, this name does?" Yoda finally asked, breaking the silence that had surrounded them. Dakar was silent for a moment, unsure of how he should respond to that, and clearly surprised by the name itself as well. How had Yoda…? "Know of your time as a Sith apprentice, I do. Years ago. No more do you train in those ways, yet a message I have received… a vision. Only one name have I heard, the name I have mentioned already, and confusing this is. I see a planet… Korriban, I believe. Something is there. Dark. Powerful. Deadly, it is."

"When I was a child… I went into the tomb of Naga Sadow," Dakar admitted. "This was under the suggestion of my master at the time, a Givin named Gal'ragd'al. I came across something… I'm still not sure what this 'something' was, but it was a power unlike anything I had ever felt before. I can't even being to describe it…"

"The cause of your mental pains, yes? And why you depend on nerve stims?" Dakar could sense Yoda's disdain in the words "nerve stims". Dakar only nodded. "But this power, far-reaching, I feel it. Not just Korriban but elsewhere. Other planets, many others, and other lifeforms feeling a similar corruption that touches your mind, I sense. Know the cause, do you?"

Dakar was silent for a moment. He thought about the question. How could he possibly know the cause of this spread of darkness? The galaxy was locked in a war, surely that was the cause of it. But somehow Dakar knew better than that, Yoda would have known if the war between the Galactic Republic and the Confederacy of Independent Systems was the cause. Darkness spread to certain beings on other planets, but not to every being on the planet… And then it dawned on him…

"The skull shards!" Dakar gasped. Some time ago Dakar had ventured back into the tombs at the Valley of the Dark Lords on Korriban—unbeknownst to the Jedi Council, or so he had thought at the time—where he had retrieved the very same skull that he had touched as a child, the skull he believed was the cause of his mental trauma, and took it from the tomb. He had hoped that taking it from that dark and dreadful place might have eased the darkness that seeped into it, and thereby had seeped into his mind, or at least he had hoped that he could study it and find some sort of cure. Unfortunately "stealing" the skull provided little result and hardly helped his situation, and though he had kept the skull nearby, studied it long and hard, he found no way to ease his burden. Finally, after keeping the skull with him for over a year, he could take its presence no longer and in a fit of dark-induced anger he had smashed the skull into smithereens. Perhaps then, he later hoped, destroying the vessel would release the power inside of it and free him from its grasp. To be sure, though, he collected the bone shards and scattered them around a number of different planets, hoping that the distance between each piece would further weaken the power, but for some reason he could not help but keep one shard for himself, and this shard he kept on his person at all times, unable to part with it for reasons he could not explain. And while this did ease the dark grasping claws on his mind the relief was only temporary… Now, had someone found some of the shards and had become affected by the darkness, too? Had he helped spread this plague?

"I… I had no idea…" Dakar said, guilt beginning to creep over him. "I thought that it would help me… I never meant it to hurt anyone…"

Yoda only shook his head. "Blame you I do not," he said simply. "Trust your judgment, I do; a good man you are. The same decision would anyone else have made. But end there the problems do not.

"Friends of yours, Jogundi Daiki and Veega Katsumi, requested permission from the Council to find some of these shards, they did. Want to tell you they did not. They wanted you to feel no blame. Going to tell you I was not, but now… Disappeared, they have. Gone. Lost all communication with them, we have. As a fellow member of the Exploration Corps know them better than most, you do, so to search for them I would like of you. Take your Padawan, need her you will."

Now Dakar felt even guiltier; two of his closest friends and fellow Jedi and members of the Exploration Corps, Jogundi and Veega had gone out to find some of the fragments that he had so stupidly disbursed, and now they were in trouble. It was all his fault. He had to go find them no matter the cost.

"Ask Derkla about their last location, you should. Tell you he can."

Derkla was an old lore-keeper of the Jedi Temple. He was wise but feisty, not unlike Yoda, but preferred knowledge over combat. Derkla was a master storyteller and could entrance all who listened to him in wonder and delight. He was a member of the Sephi species and had pointed ears, pale purple-pink skin, black eyes, and silver-white hair tied up into a topknot spiral. Still, despite his preference for peaceful solutions he was quite a capable combatant. Due to an accident as a child he was paralyzed from the waist down and relied on a hover ring to get him from place to place, but this hovering ring unit had been greatly modified from its original specs and had become a quick and agile piece of art that complimented the elder's fighting style. Together with he, Veega, Jogundi and Dakar, they made up a group that was often referred to as the "Formidable Four", a title they had earned throughout numerous missions together. The team worked well together, each one having a different skill and each member making up for the weakness another member lacked. He would be Dakar's next stop.


	3. Chapter 2: Lost

_Note: This chapter is only partially finished._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 2: Lost <strong>

Hyperspace was a vast, desolate place of coldness and silence, where space seemed to bend around the vessel locked within its winding tunnel, where stars blurred into blue lines that coiled around the vessel. Space was a cold place as it was but hyperspace seemed to make it even cooler. Thankfully, starships came equipped with an internal heating system as part of its standard life support package so the inside of this ship was at comfortable warmth.

Dakar Ramsus sat at one of the tables surrounded by a lounging seat that cornered the table on three sides. Lost in thought he was, thinking about his two lost friends…

Jogundi Daiki was a towering man of pure strength and would have been a better fit for some other combat-related part of the Jedi Services but because he had a habit of following his own agenda he had been stuck in the Exploration Corps. An Arkanian from the planet Arkania, he looked almost exactly like a fair-skinned human except for his white eyes that lacked pupils, his long silver-white hair and four-fingers hands. Like most Arkanian he could be rather arrogant but unlike most of his kind he did not place himself above other species and did not consider himself a pinnacle of evolution. He wielded a large dual-phase lightsaber staff in combat that was heavier than usual, and he was a fierce combatant.

On the other hand, Veega Katsumi was Jogundi's opposite. Fair, lithe and graceful, she lacked any form of arrogance but instead had a fascination that often bordered on obsession with the plants she studied. She was a peaceful botanist but could hold her own in battle with the dance-like combat skills and use of her unique lightsaber chakrams. She was a fellow member of the Exploration Corps and was, in fact, Jogundi's cousin. She was an Arkanian Offshoot, also from Arkania, and had an even more human appearance than Jogundi, and like all Arkanian Offshoots that were a human hybrid (as opposed to the Arkanian/Sephi hybrid variation of Arkanian Offshoots) she had five-fingered hands and human-like eyes but had pure white skin as well; but she also had slightly pointed ears hinting that she may still have had some Sephi blood somewhere within her. Her eyes where ice blue and she tended to keep her hair short and tied back. She was a beautiful woman, there was no doubt about that. She and Jogundi were two of Dakar's most trusted friends and now because of his foolish mistake they were missing somewhere in the vast galaxy…

"General, we're nearing Boz Pity," came a voice, snapping Dakar out from his reminiscing. He looked up to see a human man standing before him. A man of medium height, fit and with tanned skin and black hair. His was a face familiar to Dakar, and not just because he worked with him often, but because many thousands of other men shared the exact same face. He was a clone of the now deceased bounty hunter Jango Fett and a clone trooper of the Grand Army of the Republic, or more specifically, one of the elite clone Advanced Recon Commandos (usually shortened to "ARC troopers"). His designation was CT-29-1205 but like most clones he had taken up a nickname, Soapbox, and had also altered his own appearance slightly to differentiate himself from the other clones. He had small bubble-like tattoos that started at the bottom of the left side of his jaw and these spheres gradually increased in size as they reached his hairline, and from there the side of his head had been shaved with circles in his hair up to the top of his head. He was not wearing his ARC trooper armor but was instead wearing civilian attire, a disguise, as it were, of loose brown and dark purple tunic and pants, though Dakar was unsure of how well it would actually work.

"We'll be exiting hyperspace momentarily," Soapbox added. "Are you alright, sir?"

Dakar only smiled faintly up at the second-in-command of his trooper squadron and waved him off. "I'm fine, I'm just… thinking," Dakar responded. Soapbox could only think to add a curious "ah".

The Anomid Jedi stood then and stretched a little before turning and heading toward the cockpit only a short distance away. Inside he found his Padawan, Zeami, sitting on the co-pilot chair and was having a mild conversation with the pilot of the vessel, another ARC trooper under Dakar's command with the designation of CT-29-3345, though he was liable to punch anyone who called him by his clone designation—even Dakar himself if he wasn't careful—instead of calling him by his nickname, Grime. Grime looked much like Soapbox did, unsurprisingly, but had a large scar going up the right side of his face, a scar he had received in a battle before Dakar had met him, and he kept his black hair longer than Soapbox did and had dyed his bangs green. He, too, was dressed in civilian clothing in a dark green hooded jacket with beige sleeves and beige pants, "TEAM FROG-DOG" was emblazoned across the front chest in white rounded aurebesh letters.

The young lady sitting next to him, Zeami, looked like a female cross between Dakar himself and a fellow Jedi Master named Kit Fisto, though this was understandable considering that she was a hybrid of Anomid and Nautolan genes. She featured the Anomid's pale purple skin, fin-like ears and dark hair but had the large solid black eyes and five-fingered hands of a Nautolan.

She glanced over to Dakar as he approached.

"We're nearly there, Master," she said then looked back out the cockpit window at the swirling blurred stars of hyperspace. "There", of course, was the planet of Boz Pity, an ancient forested world with a surface littered with the skeletal remains of gigantic creatures that once roamed its grasslands, plains, mountains and marshes but were now long extinct. It was kind of a sad planet, thought Dakar. And it was, coincidentally, one of the first planets Dakar had stopped at to ditch some of the skull shards. It was also where contact with Jogundi and Veega had been lost and their last known location, Derkla had informed him.

Now the planet was under the control of the CIS, though why they would want the planet was beyond Dakar's knowledge. Breaking through to the planet would have been nearly impossible—and probably suicidal—in any marked ship of the Jedi or Republic, so Dakar had opted to take another route and use an old YV-666 light freighter that had sat in a Coruscant impound lot for ages. The freighter was surprisingly cheap to purchase, no doubt because the impound lot just wanted to get rid of the bulky freighter, but the thing was badly in need of repairs and it was a miracle that the ship had lasted this long and had gotten them this far. Under the cover of the freighter, Dakar hoped that they could sneak passed the CIS blockade, claiming that they were a crew hired to bring supplies to one of the villages on the planet. Grime had even rigged up some fake transponder signal codes to aid the guise…

Grime eased back one of the levers on the console before him and slowly the ship exited hyperspace and as the blue blurred lines merged back into pin hole stars the craft entered into the regular space lanes with an unfortunate jerk. Floating before them was the massive world of Boz Pity in all of its grey-green glory. A CIS blockade also greeted them.

"They're hailing us, sir," Grime said after a light began to flash on the console in front of him and a beeping echoed throughout the cabin.

"Connect us," Dakar said simply. Grime nodded.

"Uh, this is transport freighter YV-6-8231H, _Rancor's Claw_," Grime spoke a little hesitantly into the radio.

"Freighter YV-6-8231H, what is your business here?" came a staticy voice from over the communication unit, the metallic, broken and emotionless voice of a droid.

Grime glanced briefly to Dakar before turning back to the console. "We're, uh, here to deliver supplies to one of the local villages. We were hired by the village council and— "

"We have received no notification from any village pertaining to a delivery," said the cold robotic voice. "Transmit your clearance codes. Halt your engines and prepare for scanning."

"Right…" Grime said, clearly unsure of this situation. "Here goes nothing…" he mumbled under his breath then pressed a button to send their fake clearance codes and they waited as the scanning began. After a few minutes things were oddly silent for a while, chillingly silent. Scanning shouldn't take so long, Dakar realized. Something was wrong. He hoped that he was just being paranoid.

Finally the comm unit lit up again and Grime pressed another button to reactivate the broadcast. "Freighter YV-6-8231H, we cannot get a clear reading of your cargo. You will wait where you are and prepare for a boarding crew to check your cargo."

Grime flinched. "Oh, um, that won't be necessarily, really. Here, I can send you a list of our cargo…"

"That will not be necessary. Boarding crew dispatched, wait for them to arrive."

"No, really, you don't need to…"

"Are you disobeying our command?"

"No, it's just—"

"Disobeying orders will not be tolerated and will be considered an act of aggression."

"I'm not, just wait…"

There was no way out of this one, Dakar knew. He tapped Grime on the shoulder. "Get us down there. Soapbox and I will man the turrets. Zeami, you stay here in the cockpit."

"But Master, I can help—" Zeami began; Dakar cut her off with a raised hand.

"Stay _here_," Dakar told her again. Zeami sighed and nodded. The cockpit would be the best place for her, the safest place for her, but it wasn't a very interesting place…

And as Dakar and Soapbox drifted off toward the turrets at the top and bottom of the craft, Grime eased the throttle forward and sped the ship up, then after taking hold of the steering controls he dipped the ship downward to skim under the blockade.

"Freighter YV-6-8231H, throttle down your engines now! Stay where you are!" the droid voice came over the comm. "You are ordered to cease your progress!"

"I don't think so, clanker," Grime mumbled.

"Freighter YV-6-8231H, halt! Halt or we will fire! This is your last warning!"

As Dakar hoisted himself up into the turret seat he could hear the _boom-sizzle_ of turbolaser fire grazing the hull of the ship— only warning shots for now but the warning would not last long and would soon turn lethal— and once he fastened himself into the turret seat, fit the headphone-microphone headset over his ears and turned on the weapon system he gazed outside the window canopy to see a squadron of brown droid fighters with their distinctive H-shape bearing down on them. Clearly the CIS forces were expecting something like this.

"Here they come!" he heard Grime shout from the cockpit.

"Turrets are hot!" Soapbox shouted back, his voice crackling over the intercom. "Let's send those clankers to the junk pile!"


	4. Notes & Information

**Notes and Information**

Star Wars: Corruption from Within

January 12, 2014 – March 12, 2014

An original fan-written story. No copyright infringement is intended or implied.

Notes:  
>-312/2014: Chapter one finished, chapter two partially written.  
>-119/2014: First published to FanFiction.

* * *

><p>Information:<p>

**Dakar Ramsus** was an Anomid, and a Jedi Master of the Republic. Born in 57 BBY, he was the illegitimate child of a senator from Yablari and the senator's Anomid mistress, Dakar was abandoned at an early age at an orphanage on Nal Hutta, where he was later found by an aging Sith practitioner, a Givin named Gal'ragd'al. Under his Sith master's training, Dakar would experience an event that would alter his life (and mind) forever. After the death of Gal'ragd'al, who died of Quannot's Syndrome, he was taken in by a kindly Jedi Master and brought to the Jedi Council. (More at: BBP Wiki, see profile.)

**Zeami **was an Anomid/Nautolan hybrid and the Padawan of Dakar. A usually feisty young lady who was always raring to go, she and Dakar had many adventures together throughout the galaxy. (Author's note: Zeami is a character created in the Infinites timeline and appears in _Star Wars the Manga: Black_. There isn't much known about Zeami so I made up some things about her, such as her species, and tried to make her sound a little more canon.) (Source: Wookieepedia)

**Gal'ragd'al** was an elderly Givin and a practitioner of the Sith arts who preferred to study and gain knowledge rather than power for brute strength. He had Quannot's Syndrome for a number of years, even before he took in Dakar. He was often considered an outsider even among the few remaining Sith because of his lack of interest in control and power, and because of his uncharacteristic friendliness and understanding. (More at: BBP Wiki, see profile.)

**Jogundi Daiki** was an Arkanian Jedi Master and, like Dakar, a member of the Exploration Corps. He was a tall, muscular man- quite a towering and imposing figure. He was a master lightsaber duelist but also had amazing physical strength. He wielded a dual-phase lightsaber pike that was heavier that most lightsaber pikes, which he wielded with ease thanks to his impressive strength. He had a tendency to be rather arrogant but was still considered friendly... usually. (More at: BBP Wiki, see profile.)

**Veega Katsumi** was an Arkanian Offshoot and Jedi Master, and she was also Jogundi's Cousin as well as another member of the Exploration Corps. She was light on her feet and she was known for her elegance and grace; even her lightsaber combat was light and graceful that looked more like a dance than actual combat, and she wielded a unique pair of lightsaber chakrams. She was also a master botanist and had a fascination with plants that sometimes bordered on obsession. (More at: BBP Wiki, see profile.)

**Derkla** was an elderly Sephi, a Jedi Master, and a renown lore keeper as well as a high-ranking member of the Exploration Corps. Due to an accident as a child we was paralyzed from the waist down and relied on a custom-built hover ring to get around. He was wise, sly and quick-witted, and loved delving deep into brain-teasing puzzles. (More at: BBP Wiki, see profile.)

**Quannot's Syndrome** was a debilitating and ultimately fatal disease that caused immense pain to its victims. Humans were among the susceptible species, and the pain caused by the disease could be held at bay with doses of painkillers such as perigen, but there was no cure. (Source: Wookieepedia)

_Author's note: Unless otherwise noted, usually by a source link to Wookieepedia, all of the above information is of my own creation from my own imagination. Blue Banshees Productions is my wiki where I list many of my character biographies and other information._


End file.
